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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29828817">don't stretch to the point of pain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalsuns/pseuds/charcoalsuns'>charcoalsuns</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Post-Timeskip</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:49:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29828817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalsuns/pseuds/charcoalsuns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“And now it’s time to eat!” Hinata says, as though that was part of the plan all along. </p>
  <p>Kageyama nods, the picture of seriousness, but he’s glancing toward them again, and Kunimi can see, now, the flush of exercise that hasn’t faded yet, and the question between his eyebrows that has resurfaced. </p>
  <p>Kindaichi’s elbow nudges Kunimi’s arm, and Kunimi levels a smile toward his newest old friend. “Lead the way.” </p>
</blockquote><p>Or, what else might have happened on their promised day on the beach.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>don't stretch to the point of pain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/nylie/gifts">nylie</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ny!!!! I always have such a good time talking with you, including every time we talk HQ and fling ourselves neck-deep into our emotions. The things that happen in this fic are based on our correspondence (read: crying yells) in the days after the chapter became available online -- I hope you enjoy it!! &lt;3</p>
<p>-- </p>
<p>This is, of course, inspired by the bonus chapter "Promise: Part 2" which Furudate-sensei drew for the Haikyuu Exhibition in Tokyo toward the end of 2020. It starts just after the last panel.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
They keep needling him for another ten minutes – Kageyama in earnest, like he’s discovered a new play; Hinata excited, as if he’s found someone to take up his mantle; Kindaichi laughing himself to tears, so amused and having such a good time that Kunimi doesn’t even care that it’s at his expense. </p>
<p>When his shallow breaths even out enough for him to sit up, he drains the remainder of his water bottle, wishing he’d brought more. He stuffs the empty bottle back into his bag, where it settles on top of his indoor volleyball shoes. He’d had to dig those out of his closet last week. He still isn’t sure whether he’ll be burying them again, back where they’d been gathering dust for three, four years. </p>
<p>The wind blows. Kunimi grabs his hat before it flies away with it. </p>
<p>“So, what's next!” </p>
<p>Hinata. Kunimi’s head trips up to stare at him. He can’t be serious. One match was fine – playing to twenty-one almost made up for the unfamiliar heaviness of his every step in the sand – and then, even a second match was fine. Then the third, to round out the pairs, all fine. All worth it, to laugh at the sight of Kindaichi faceplanting yet again, and to smile at Kageyama, a normal teammate, a normal troublesome opponent. </p>
<p>Now, Kunimi can imagine all too clearly what the exhaustion of another round would look like, and it threatens to turn his enjoyment from begrudgingly genuine back into something tortuous. </p>
<p>Kindaichi is standing up again, grinning, the traitor— But Kageyama, who Kunimi expects to be up in a flash just to show Hinata he’s even more ready than him, is still sitting in the sand, ankles crossed and hands on his knees, looking right at Kunimi like he’s waiting for <em> him </em> to agree. And that, more than any cheerful nudging or excitement high, is what leads Kunimi’s <em> Hell no </em> back to an actual yes-or-no decision. </p>
<p>It’s still no. But it’s a contented one.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
There’s more blue than cloud in the sky as they trudge up the beach to the stairs. Of course the whole place starts feeling warmer right when they’re leaving. Kunimi holds his jacket securely in the bend of an elbow; he’ll put it back on in a minute. </p>
<p>“Well,” Kindaichi starts, when they’ve all patted the sand away as best they can, and put their socks and shoes back on. </p>
<p>At the same time, Hinata says, “And now it’s time to eat!” as though that were part of the plan all along. </p>
<p>Kageyama nods, the picture of seriousness, but he’s glancing toward them again, and Kunimi can see, now, the flush of exercise that hasn’t faded yet, and the question between his eyebrows that has resurfaced. </p>
<p>Kindaichi’s elbow nudges Kunimi’s arm, and Kunimi levels a smile toward his newest old friend. “Lead the way.”<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
They end up sitting nearly shoulder-to-shoulder at a counter – outside, <em> still outside</em>, Kunimi is going to sue someone – with bowls twice as big as the ones Kunimi’s got at home, filled to the brim with chewy noodles and fresh vegetables, sliced pork belly and fragrant broth. There’s a brief chopstick fight over the last gyoza, a briefer offering of the last of the steamed pumpkin. </p>
<p>There’s more laughter and less rowdiness than Kunimi remembers from the last time he’d been out for a team meal – and as he catches himself thinking that, thinking <em> team</em>, he takes a moment to acknowledge the novelty of it all. </p>
<p>There’s Hinata pulling up a video saved on his phone, Kageyama growling an interrogation at him about <em> Why do you still have that, anyway</em>, with a dangerous smile on his face that’s just as amusing as the blank expression his recorded self wears to read off some praise for some brand of curry. </p>
<p>There’s Kindaichi snorting before he laughs too, big and bright like a kid winning a bonus popsicle, and he’s taking out his own phone to show Hinata the same commercial, bookmarked on his YouTube account under Liked Videos. </p>
<p>There’s Kunimi, stealthily transferring the extra contents of his bowl – the servings here are <em> ridiculous</em>, truly – over to Kindaichi’s when he’s not looking, too busy grinning across the table as they argue about dream sponsorships and the latest cartoons.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
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The sun is inching toward its golden bed by the time they clear out, leaving the cart’s counter ready for the dinner crowd. </p>
<p>Kageyama and Kindaichi are talking block technique again, comparing notes, alternatingly gushing and grousing about a player that they both happen to know. Hinata, more subdued than Kunimi ever remembers or imagines him to be, is still smiling, the sun through his glasses filtering orange light onto his skin. </p>
<p>When Kindaichi elbows Kageyama in the midst of making a point, it’s a gesture so familiar to Kunimi that he needs to blink several times before he looks away, off toward the disappearing sand. Beside him, Hinata huffs a laugh. He looks as pleased as if this day, these years of change were all his doing, and as muted as if he’d had nothing to with any of it at all. </p>
<p>“Thanks,” Kunimi says, just as quiet. Just as glad. </p>
<p>Hinata tilts his head, enough to fix Kunimi with an expression of amused disbelief. </p>
<p>Kunimi has a smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. “I know,” he says. “But still.”<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
They go their separate ways at the station, shaking the last traces of sand from their jackets and bags before they step through the gates. </p>
<p>They don’t make plans to do this again sometime. They don’t make any promises to catch up after someone or another’s next game, or on someone’s next free weekend. It’s as though today, the bookend to a chance meeting after a match in November that was no accident at all, has opened a window, a door, cleared away the whole wall – and <em> sometime </em> lives in each of their minds as a solid<em> sometime soon</em>. </p>
<p>The right things are unspoken now. </p>
<p>Kunimi inclines his head toward Kageyama, whose smile of late has been less murderous and more mild, more steady, the more he sees of it. Kindaichi taps his fist against Hinata’s, the two of them grinning enough to ruin the solemnity of their goodbye nods. </p>
<p>“Until next time!” Hinata calls, before he turns and walks away like he’s used to it. </p>
<p>“Later,” Kageyama says, and with another concerning look of confusion around at the various station signs, he heads off as well. </p>
<p>Kindaichi lowers his hand from where he’d raised it in sendoff, and lets out a sigh that seems to roll across the smooth tile and laminated posters around them. “See you, Kunimi,” he says, eyes just as bright as they’d been on the beach. “Take care getting home.” </p>
<p>Kunimi narrows his eyes, hearing the laugh woven through every word. “I’m going to hold you responsible next time, too, just so you know.” He settles the strap of his bag more evenly on his shoulder. “When I really tear something, it’ll be on your conscience.” </p>
<p>Kindaichi just waves a hand, already walking away. He calls over his shoulder, “My conscience is clear! You’re fine and you know it!” </p>
<p>And the infuriating— the utterly mad, grand, infuriating thing is, he’s right. </p>
<p>Kunimi probably won’t bury his indoor shoes back behind the years of storage miscellany. It’d take more effort than it did to find them in the first place. </p>
<p>But, he muses, as he settles on a train seat and lets his head lean fully against the window, eyes sliding shut before the doors do, maybe he’ll go out and get a pair of sunglasses. Sometime. <br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
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